


come into my life (boy, I adore you)

by bountifulsilences



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: 5 Times, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Fluffy Ending, M/M, Pre-Captain America: The First Avenger, Pre-War, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, lots of fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2019-01-17 19:34:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12372564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bountifulsilences/pseuds/bountifulsilences
Summary: A soft smile gathered on Bucky’s lips, and he mused, “you really do see me, huh?”“What? Obviously I see you Buck, I’m colour-blind, not entirely.”Bucky shook his head, looking down at the picture again. Steve saw him. Steve knew him. Steve accepted him. He was so fixated on the concept of someone entering his life, someone new to come in and for him to fall in love with, that he overlooked the one that already existed.or 5 times Bucky was in love with Steve, and the one time Steve loves him back.





	come into my life (boy, I adore you)

**Author's Note:**

> I tried therefore no one can complain if this sucks terribly! I like writing about the boys in pain...this was definitely a huge challenge but I've done it. (let's ignore the bit with hurt/comfort when it comes, you know someone's gotta hurt for me to feel satisfied (I know I'm awful))
> 
> I hope you like this, fluff, fluff, and...fluff! It was interesting and difficult for me to write despite how much I love reading it. Here's hoping for success! 
> 
> All mistakes are my own - this is unbeta'd as always
> 
> Inspiration for this came from Tommy Reeve - Come into My Life (it's a cover, but the original is amazing too)

The fire escape was a rickety old thing, constructed with rusted metal, it was too weak to do its assigned job properly. Bucky often heard the ladies above his and Steve’s flat disclose that they they’d rather burn than plunge to their death. He always thought that was a bit dramatic.

Nonetheless, for him it posed as the perfect place for contemplation. The ascending wall in front of him was barren and dark, and it rose high enough to block the shimmering stars from above. Steve complained that it smelt like death, but Bucky knew he liked it. It was an awful, ridden area, but it was the only place either of them had any privacy. They had to make do and exercise their opportunities, regardless of how…unfortunate.

For nights like this, after a long, tiring day, it was the ideal place to decompress and just think. The date wasn’t a success, though it wasn’t a failure either, it ended on good terms. However, there was no prospect of reconciliation in the future, as always, and Bucky might just end up as a good friend of hers.

Smoking a cigarette, perched on one of their pillows to prevent the metal from digging into him, he gazed at the towering wall in front of him, lost in thought. A light breeze skated around him, snaking up his body and wrapping itself like a blanket on his skin, sending a chill straight to his bones. He shivered, but made no effort to move.

Inside he heard Steve shuffling, getting ready for bed no doubt, and focused on the miniscule noise whilst burning the life out of the stick in between his fingers. It wasn’t that he didn’t try to find love or a specific partner, on the contrary, Bucky was eager for it, yearned to find affection like his mother had for his father. But he couldn’t seem to attain it. All the dames he met (and the odd fella whose identity he’d _never_ divulge) never really clicked.

He wanted to find someone who could see him. Saw beyond the callous hands, the seemingly ignorant smirk, and vibrating eyes. A partner, he decided, had to see him for so much more and accept him for it. He was far from perfect, that much he agreed with, but he wasn’t a total lost cause, and if the right person accepted him, he could redeem himself. That was his intention anyway, so he could cater some of himself to suit them.

He didn’t want to reconsider himself for another, he was authentically Bucky, in every aspect. But if the right person arose, he was willing to change a part of him to appeal to them. It was life. Until then, he had only ever connected with Steve, a pain in the arse who didn’t care for his dazzling smile and liked him for him. Which included the incessant jokes, the forced optimism, and the temperament. Steve really saw him.

But this was Steve, a man not exempt from any flaws himself, and so when he was ready to go to sleep, he decided to disturb Bucky’s late-night contemplations. Not even five minutes of peace!

“Get inside Bucky, I’m going to sleep,” Steve demanded, arms propped on the window sill and head poking out of it. He was looking at Bucky expectantly, an invitation for a challenge clear on his face.

“You go, I’ll be five more minutes,” Bucky waved off, taking another fulfilling drag of his cigarette and ignoring Steve’s presence.

It didn’t remain ignored for much longer. “You either get in now or I’m locking it. You always forget to Buck and I can’t risk another flu. Not when I just had it.”

“I won’t this time Stevie, promise,” He soothed nonchalantly, indulging in a quick glimpse of him.

Steve harboured a flat expression, clearly unconvinced by Bucky’s promise. So, he had forgotten a few times and Steve got ill, and missed work. But he always recovered, so no harm done. Steve didn’t think he’d do it again, did he?

“I’m counting to five and if you’re not inside you can freeze out there for not listening,” Steve stated with a shrug and then initiated the count down.

Bucky gave him a sceptical look and cocked his head to the side, trying to assess the validity behind Steve’s words. “You wouldn’t, would you?”

Steve emphasised the number, with a deliberate stare and shrug. He would, the goddamn punk. Before Bucky could hastily finish taking a large, final drag, Steve had finished his countdown and smiled innocently. He was going to drop it. Before Bucky could protest, he saw the window plummet and click in place, effectively locking him outside. He threw the unfinished cigarette, barely managing to mourn its death, and rushed to the window, looking inside.

Steve was sorting his clothes on the spare chair beside the door, half of his face visible to Bucky. There was an apparent smirk expressed on his lips, and smugness in his actions as he finished the final tasks before going to bed. Bucky glared at him and knocked on the window, hard.

Slowly looking at the window, Steve asked, “what?” staring as though Bucky was an inconvenience.

“Open the window!” he mouthed back, pointing at the wooden structure obscuring his sight of the lock.

Taunting him, Steve lifted himself onto his toes and peered at the window, as though he was straining to see the exit that barely reached his shoulders. Making a face, he shook his head apologetically, pointing at it offhandedly acting as though he couldn’t. Bucky rolled his eyes at him.

“Steve, open the window,” he tried again, but this time saying the words rather than just forming them with his lips. The other watched them move.

Shaking his head, he ignored Bucky’s demand and stared at him like he was waiting for something. Bucky glared at him one last time and then looked down at the ledge, wondering if he pried it open it would close again. The reason Steve insisted he close it properly was because it opened and closed during the night, allowing droughts of cold air into the room. Bucky made sure he always did, but he didn’t know how it kept on opening.

He put his hands on the window, preparing to lift it using as much force necessary, and raised an eyebrow to give Steve a chance to protest. At ease by it, Steve replied, “be my guest,” gesturing into the open.

Making a ‘you’re-gonna-regret-it’ face, he heaved the window up, and was surprised to feel it slide effortlessly, requiring little energy. Eyes widening considerably, he frowned and stepped inside, ignoring the tsunami of self-satisfaction radiating from Steve, and locked it securely in place. He then glanced at Steve.

Rolling his eyes at his bewilderment, Steve explained, “the lock’s broken, so you need to do it manually. If you don’t, it won’t lock and it’ll stay open all night, making me ill. Got it?”

“You left me to die, I’m not talking to you,” Bucky decided, walking to the rogue chair to take his clothes off and replace it with his nightwear.

Steve wandered to his side of their shared bed, and sat on the blanket, a fond smile playing on his face. He could recognise that look just from the fondness Steve transmitted generously, could perceive it with his eyes closed. It was heart-warming.

“You compelled me, Buck. I gave you a head start but you chose to ignore it.”

“For that you can lock it yourself, and oh, you can bring the pillow inside too. I’m not doing anything from this moment onwards,” Bucky said, taking off his shirt in exchange for a vest. It was cold at night, he admitted it, but he ran warm throughout the seasons, and needed some alleviation from the heat.

Rolling his eyes, Steve abided, and pointed out, “it’s not cold enough for you to die yet, and the lock wasn’t even in place. You could’ve come inside whenever, if you just tried.” However, that didn’t stop him from getting up and going towards the window to retrieve the pillow and securely shut it.

Bucky looked behind himself, hopping on his feet as he changed his trousers into something thicker, and saw Steve’s eyes linger on his legs. Scoffing, he replied, “keep the logic to yourself Rogers, you should feel lucky I ain’t pressing charges. The police would have a field day arresting your skinny ass.”

“They would, wouldn’t they?” Steve agreed, laughing as he ducked his head and slipped outside onto the fire escape. Bucky successfully changed his clothes, and then tried to put them on the chair as neatly as he could to avoid creases, but purposely shifting Steve’s. That should teach him.

“You’re a wanted man, I’d be doing them a favour,” Bucky called, briefly passing into their living room, and by extension kitchen to fill a glass of water.

It wasn’t uncommon for Steve to wake, throat dry and chest heaving, working up to an asthma attack. He always needed some water to quench his thirst, and the first few times, Bucky didn’t bring water to bed. But now, after learning from his mistakes, he always ensured water on hand just in case. It was always ‘just in case’ when it came to Steve.

“You’d miss me too much,” Steve told him when he returned, glass in hand. “No one else would be able to handle your tantrums, you need me.”

“You give yourself too much credit Steven, I don’t need anyone but myself,” he responded decisively, putting the water on the table by his side, and sitting next to Steve, who was scrolling through some of his sketchbooks.

Peeling one out of his hands, he absent-mindedly skipped through it, marvelling at the drawings. There were a variety, some of their neighbours, of Brooklyn, and even their home, random objects that just caught his eyes at the time. However, they were all overwhelmed by pictures of one recurring person, and Bucky noticed that it was him. He made up quite a bit of Steve’s drawing.

“If you think so, why don’t you take up Joseph’s offer? The flat is in a nice side of town, plenty of jobs going there, won’t have to share a bed with little ol’ me. Clearly, you’re an independent man. You shouldn’t have me dragging you down,” Steve listed, eyebrows raising expectantly.

Bucky rolled his eyes, and rested the open sketchbook on his lap, presenting an extensive drawing of an unfinished face. His face. “You can’t get rid of me that easily. I’m like gum, once I’m stuck, I’m there forever. And ever. And ever.” For good measure, he wholeheartedly nudged Steve’s shoulder with his own.

“Damn it,” Steve cursed. “And here I was hoping for some peace and quiet. Could finally get some work done!”

Grinning smugly, Bucky shook his head. “Tough luck pal, better luck next time. If you trap me in a freezer I might reconsider though, don’t like the cold that much after you left me in it to die.”

“Duly noted,” Steve said, looking at the page he was looking at curiously.

He hadn’t changed it yet, perplexed by the sheer intricacy of the drawing. It was brilliant, despite being evidently unfinished, and he couldn’t fathom how Steve captured him so beautifully. He made his flaws seem insignificant in the bigger picture, a task Buck thought was near impossible. Perhaps he was being kind.

“It’s a good picture Stevie, just think you’ve been too kind on this ugly mug. My eyes are droopy in real life, not this awake,” he commented, running a hand over the rough surface.

“Shut up, it’s as accurate as I could get it. Still don’t think I’ve done you any good though, I can never get the shading right,” he confessed critically, frowning at the half-completed drawing. “But anyway, it doesn’t matter if you don’t think it’s a proper representation of you. This is how I see your ugly mug, so you can’t complain about that.”

Steve saw him like…that?

“I’m just saying Steve, you’ve been too kind.”

“Well don’t, I never asked. You’re one of the best guys I know, and I don’t appreciate you talking bad about it.”

A soft smile gathered on Bucky’s lips, and he mused, “you really do see me, huh?”

“What? Obviously, I see you Buck, I’m colour-blind, not entirely.”

Bucky shook his head, looking down at the picture again. Steve _saw_ him. Steve knew him. Steve accepted him. He was so fixated on the concept of someone entering his life, someone new to come in and for him to fall in love with, that he overlooked the one that already existed.

Blinking to himself, he glanced at Steve, saw him frowning at the picture, picking it apart no doubt, and couldn’t help but think this was it for him. He had already found the person he had been looking for and he was his perfect match. Sure, their society wasn’t the greatest (downright awful, if he was being honest) and Steve may not even love him back for him for it to matter. But it felt good. It felt good that the one person who meant everything to him, was who he fell for and the one who truly saw him.

Later, when Steve lay in bed, fast asleep and snoring in the quiet sanctuary, Bucky curled himself gently around him, weary of his chest, and fell asleep too. They always ended up like that in the morning, so it didn’t matter. What Steve didn’t know couldn’t hurt him. It couldn’t hurt Bucky either, which was a huge plus.

* * * *

After the epiphany, not a lot changed. Bucky acted the same, throwing his arm around Steve as they walked, went out with girls so his cover was safe, and slept in the same bed as him. In fact, it was almost as though nothing had changed, except, things had. Little, obvious changes that he couldn’t control. Now, Bucky held on a little longer to Steve when he enclosed around him, he squeezed and laughed until he had to stop because people would start looking. He stayed longer in bed, just to bask in the serenity for a tiny bit longer.

And then there was the hair. He didn’t know how infatuated originated, couldn’t even begin to configure an explanation for it, but he liked playing with Steve’s hair. Loved it, even. Whenever Steve laid his head on his lap (the pillows were like rocks apparently) Bucky’s fingers immediately gravitated towards them. Picked apart the strands, soothed his scalp, tugged on the straight locks. It was starting to become a problem.

That’s how they were sat. Steve was resting on Bucky’s lap, sketchbook leaning against his protruding knees and folded legs, and Bucky was slumped listening to the radio, a murmur of an old baseball match. His fingers (as expected) were playing with Steve’s hair, absent minded at that point, as he gazed at the ceiling, slowly falling asleep.

He would have eventually, had Steve not spoken up penetrating his drowsiness, but he was not so lucky.

“Hey Buck?”

“Hm?”

“Why you always touching my hair like a creep?” Steve asked, twirling the pen in his grip as he examined his work. Bucky’s hand stuttered.

“Why, you want me to stop?” he asked, wondering if he should continue.

“No! No, it’s not that. It feels good. It’s just, m’curious, that’s it. Been thinking about cutting my hair. But I don’t think you’d appreciate that, considering you’re obsessed with it.”

Bucky resumed his repetitive strokes, fingers tenderly cascading through the soft strands, digging to scrape his nails against Steve’s scalp. He knew it was good for aches, and considering Steve’s health history, it would undoubtedly help him as well give him an excuse to do it.

Sighing, he stated, “someone on the docks told me it helps with headaches, so I figured if it’d work for you. You’re always biting my ear off.”

“Har har. You’re so funny,” Steve said sarcastically, resuming his drawing. Another Bucky.

“Don’t you forget it pal.”

“They’re right, you should listen to them more often. My head has never felt better,” Steve confessed, focused on the drawing.

Bucky smiled at him, far from the watchful blue eyes. “I might just do that.”

* * * *

Two days after a huge success, Bucky was cooking. It wasn’t a rare occasion since he and Steve took days to do the cooking and the cleaning, but this was more than just out of obligation. A particular commission, one of the largest Steve had ever drawn, was published in a big-league newspaper, planting it slap bang in the middle.

When the cheque came through, accompanied with a congratulatory note, Bucky was ecstatic. Bouncing on his feet, he reeled Steve into a quick hug, who was clutching the paper in disbelief. All things considered, it wasn’t a huge sum of money, Bucky could make it if it he tried hard enough, but Steve was successful. His attempt worked on the first try, people would see his work all over New York. He had accomplished his dream.

So, using a bit of money Bucky had accumulated over the months, he tried to make them a nice dinner to celebrate. Nothing too extravagant, they were still too close to the poverty line, but something delicious. Something which emphasised that this dinner had a purpose, an intention. To congratulate Steve.

Ushering him out of the house for a few hours, Bucky had collected some dessert from his ma’s house (chocolate pie, a rarity itself for the two boys but something his parents could afford) as well as some ingredients he couldn’t afford, lots of love, and motivation, all compressed into a kiss on the cheek. Leaving with high hopes, he began his cooking.

He made roast chicken with stuffing, mashed potatoes, and a heap of vegetables his ma donated for the cause (and gravy) with lastly, dumplings in a bowl. All of that, combined with the pie meant they were in for a meal they’d remember for months. Since money was scarce for so long they never indulged in such practices, not even on birthdays or holidays. Only when they visited Bucky’s ma did they have something extraordinary to eat, something that wasn’t fish.

But since the economy was improving, money was incoming steadily, he decided to splurge for once would do them so good, even if it did pain him slightly to spend it. Money comes and goes, he excused, and they’re allowed to spoil them. They deserved it after all that abstinence and deprivation. And what a better day, than to celebrate Steve? It was a sign!

After cooking for what felt like hours and hours, the food was done just in time for Steve’s arrival, and for the sun to set in the horizon. The curtains were open, revealing the familiar brick wall restraining a yellow glow from shining in, but at least they were away from watchful eyes. Bucky really wouldn’t mind the sunset though.

“Hey Bucky, I’m-” Steve faltered in his step, jacket partially off. Glancing around the kitchen area, taking in all the food presented on the table, he finished, “home. What’s all this for? Your ma sent us some food again?”

Proudly, Bucky shook his head and said, “ta da! This meal is served to you by Bucky Barnes, incredibly proud, best friend of Steve Rogers, and a chef of many talents. I just wanted to do something for you since you got that commission. I’m really proud of ya Steve.”

“Wait- you did this, for me?” Bucky nodded his head. “Bucky that’s- why? You should’ve used the money on yourself! Why did you-”

“La la la,” Bucky sang, covering his ears and walking over to Steve. “I can’t hear you.”

Rolling his eyes, mirth displayed in the blue oceans, Steve chuckled, putting his jacket away. “Okay, okay, I get it. No complaining, it’s your money and you decide how to spend it, got it. Now when can we eat? I’m starving and that looks delicious.”

“Well, I made it. Of course it’s delicious,” he stated matter-of-factly, eyes following Steve’s smile in awe. “But yes, let's feast like kings!”

They both say down on the wooden table, a circular one that came with the apartment when they purchased it. Side by side, the plates in front of them were empty but Bucky managed to snag some fancy napkins to put on the empty surface, just to keep up their facade. When Steve saw it, he picked it and asked, “really?”

“Only the best for the best artist in Brooklyn,” he replied, nodding his head seriously.

“I’m not the best, mediocre if that.” Steve was putting together his plate as he spoke, trying a bit of everything since he struggled to eat a lot.

Both didn’t eat a lot, Steve because he couldn't, Bucky to save money. Even a day such as the one they were celebrating meant eating in moderation, mostly because they couldn’t eat a lot. Since the food was high in fat, carbs and who knows what else, they could only eat a bit at a time. The plus was with lower quantities they could eat it over a longer period of time than others.

“Hey, what’s rule number one at the dining table?”

Steve shrugged. “We don’t have any rules?”

“Well, I’m making them up now. No bad mouthing, alright? You are incredible and you’re going to celebrate it, you deserve to.”

“Thanks Buck.” Steve smiled at him, a heart-warming and private smile one he so rarely showed, only when he was feeling safe, appreciated, and loved. Good, Bucky loved him with all his heart

“No problem Steven, now come on, let’s eat. You can tell me what the fellas were saying as we do, I’m curious.”

It took them a while to get through it all, a constant chatter mixed with laughter ongoing between them. They demolished as much as they could, more than they could usually manage but nothing extremely exceptional. By the time they had finished with that, Steve was sat against the chair, clutching his stomach.

Groaning, he complained, “I ate too much. But it was so good, I couldn’t stop.”

“I. Know. Being greedy has so many consequences, why didn’t I think this through. I have work in the morning,” Bucky moaned, slumped against his own chair, not able to touch his stomach. He was so bloated.

“Why did you make so much, jerk.”

“I was being nice. Regret it now.”

“Next time, stick to something simple. Easy.”

“Pal, you’re lucky to get sandwiches next time.”

Steve laughed abruptly, shoulders heaving. The second he did, his laugh dissolved into a groan, and he smacked Bucky’s arm. “Stop making me laugh. It hurts.”

“You know where the toilet is. Go and do a-”

“James Buchanan Barnes, you finish that sentence and I’m throwing your head in the toilet,” Steve warned, voice weak in comparison to threat.

It was Bucky's turn to laugh, knowing how uncomfortable Steve got when he mentioned excreting his digested food. But he made a huge mistake, and it jostled his stomach, making it hurt so much more and strangling a groan out of his throat. Now he knew what Steve meant. Ouch.

“Serves you right. Don’t be so disgusting, we eat food here.”

“You love it really,” Bucky insisted, smiling.

“I do not,” Steve said decisively, glaring at him from his position. Bucky grinned in return.

“Well, if you’re not going to do what I suggested, then I guess the pie’s going to waste. What a shame,” he remarked nonchalantly, as though he was actually willing to throw it all away. He could never.

“Wait, pie?” Steve perked, coming closer to Bucky, bloatedness forgotten. “You got me pie?”

“Pal,” Bucky said with a strained chuckle. “I got you chocolate pie.”

“God- darn it Bucky! I love chocolate pie!” Steve complained, leaning back, face scrunched as though he was going to break down any minute then. “Why tell me now you jerk, I physically cannot eat anymore.”

Shrugging, he said, “I told you a way to-”

“Not another word Barnes,” Steve interjected, voice deadly serious. “You came in between me and my pie. I don’t want to hear it.”

“As you wish Stevie, you know where to find me when you’re ready.”

Steve feigned crying, groaning. “Pie.”

Joining in, Bucky drawled, “toilet.”

Steve opened his eyes, looking at Bucky with a glare and leaned over, whacking his am again. “This isn’t funny punk, I thought we were celebrating my commission. How could you do this to me?”

“I never told you to eat so much. It’s not my fault I’m such an amazing chef.”

“For breakfast, lunch, and hell, even dinner. I’m eating that pie,” Steve promised, looking at their refrigerator. “I will avenge this moment.”

“Hey, be sure to leave me some. I don’t think ma is willing to make it for me for no reason.” His ma loved Steve, so she probably would if he asked. That had to be discrimination of some sort, right?

Steve laughed, happy at Bucky’s despair. “If I asked your ma she would, she loves me.” Which was completely true. Ever since they were kids Bucky’s ma loved Steve more than any of his friends, hell, she considered him as her second son.

In another life, another year, another dimension, she might have not cared that Bucky loved him like the moon loved the sun. She would’ve been ecstatic. But they didn’t live there, and if she ever found out, he was too scared to even consider the result. But at least she approved of Steve, that much was all he cared about.

“No need to rub it in, I get it, nobody loves me.” He looked down, jutting his bottom lip outward, trying to seem upset.

Steve saw right past it, chuckling at the face, causing Bucky to join him, before poking his lips. “You’re lucky I love you, at least you got someone.”

“Aw Stevie,” he gushed. “You’re a doll.”

That invoked an eye roll from Steve, and a head shake. “Lucky, like I said.”

Bucky smiled at him, earnest and heartfelt, wondering just how he got so lucky. He must have done something good sometime, because Steve was everything he ever wanted and more. He was perfect for him.

* * * *

A failure.

That’s what it had been, a God damn failure and now they were stuck in one of the many alleyways in Brooklyn nursing a few injuries with some optimism from Bucky and a lot of angst from Steve. It certainly wasn’t the night that Bucky had imagined.

It started with innocent enough intentions, Bucky hadn’t been on a date since his life changing dinner (he loved Steve too much), and eventually people would start question the two bachelors living together. For both of their sakes, Bucky arranged a double date.

It was simple, go to the theatre, watch a random movie that Steve had been bugging on about, walk the dames home, and then do the same themselves. Efficient and effective, people wouldn’t question a thing. A fool proof plan. Which is why Bucky never anticipated things turning to shit so quickly, there was no reason for it.

Steve was harbouring a bust lip, bloody cheekbone, and no doubt more cuts and bruises on his body. Red painted his blonde hair, mattifying it to stick to his head, from a forehead injury that looked quite deep from where he was inspecting it; he hoped not. Those were suckers to deal with.

Bucky himself was hosting a large gash to his jaw from his incredible fall, just beneath his right eye was a shallow cut that was drying up, and his stomach was throbbing with excruciating pain. They were both a mess, clothes bloody and head dejected. Oh, what a night it had become.

Dreading the imminent discussion, Bucky planned, “let's go home, clean ourselves up and then we can sit on the fire escape while you read me a book. How does that sound?”

Ignoring him completely, Steve didn't reply, an expression of exhaustion and righteous anger displayed across his face. Staring blatantly, Bucky wondered just how he was going to get out of this. He should've ensured no complications, that the girls were single, that Steve made the right choice by following him. Evidently, he hadn't and so the consequences were his to shoulder bravely.

“Look, Steve,” he started, wincing as his eye pulsated. “So, this didn't end how I imagined it. But it doesn't matter. Sure, we're bruised and battered but at least we know that we're so irresistible the girls couldn't say no.”

Rage consumed eyes turned to him, burning through the wood vigorously as they kept the anger at bay. Steve  was eerily calm, suppressing most of what he felt. It wasn't a sight Bucky wanted to witness.

“I don't care about the dames, Bucky. Hell, I don't even care that she lied and got us beat up in the process. I care that they got away, that they had the last laugh and think they're better than us. Than me, just because I couldn't get back up.” Eyes darting to the concrete floor, he muttered, “useless, weakling.” A repetition of what they had called him.

Listening carefully, Bucky frowned hearing the lies spew from Steve’s mouth. Shaking his head, he opened his mouth to object, but Steve looked at him sharply, as if saying he challenged Bucky to speak. His frown deepened.

“Just because they think they're better than us doesn't mean they are. You know this Steve, you're worth isn't defined by how well you fight, it's by how you-”

“Does the heart really matter when I can't even defend myself? Hm?” Steve's glare penetrated him. “I don't care if I'm good where it counts if I can't defend myself when it matters. These- these bastards think they can beat me up just because I'm smaller than them! What good is a heart then, Bucky? I can't take it out of my chest and fight them with it!”

“Why are you so fixated on fighting?” Bucky demanded, eyes closing into his own glare. “Why do you have to prove yourself? They got lucky Steve, that's it. And they're most likely going to get arrested because the girls didn't seem too happy about it. Why don't you see muscle is nothing when-”

“If I was bigger than this, they wouldn't have laid a finger on us and you know it.” Steve's deep voice took a cynical turn. “Just because we were easy targets they beat us up. Muscle means everything.”

“It was five of them and two of us!” Bucky reminded him, incredulous and eyes wide. “What do you mean they wouldn't have beat us up if we were bigger? Yes, they would. They were looking at numbers, and we lacked in both scenarios so what is your point?”

“My point is: no more double dates. You want to go? Be my guest. But I'm done. If someone comes around then they do, but no more. People think they can treat me like dirt but I'm done with it. Enough of it now.”

Steve made a move to leave, but quickly Bucky grabbed his wrist pulling him back. Steve stumbled, loosening Bucky’s grip slightly, but he didn't care, returning them both to their positions. Looking deeply into Steve's eyes, he wondered what had happened. Why was he so-

“Let go of me Bucky,” Steve's lethal voice commanded. “I'm going home.”

“The hell you are! Why is everything always about your body? Huh? You don't care you got hurt, but you care that you have no muscles- why? Why do you have to treat your body like this?”

“Because it's useless. It's good for nothing, it's weak and it's going to kill me. Is that what you want to hear?” Steve asked, moving into Bucky's space, going in on an attack. Bucky let him. “This body has constantly failed me. Why do you want, for me to sing praises? Well we'll both die before that ever happens. So, I'll treat it however I want.”

“This body is only trying to save you, even when you're to murder it,” Bucky reminded him, voice thick with conviction. “Why are you purposely picking fight, knowing that it's doing as much as it can, purposely pushing it to its limits? And no, I ain't talking about the times you're helping someone and you know it. This is about how just last week you tried to deck someone for chasing a dog!”

“I didn't know it was theirs,” Steve lied, teeth clenched together in fury.

“Yes, you did, don't lie to me,” Bucky said, just managing to bottle his own anger before it prevailed. “You saw the same thing as me but you still tried to pick a fight, because two days before your feet were swollen and you were pissed that they were.”

Steve's fiery blaze projected in his eyes, as he refused to look away. Because Bucky was angry too, he followed in suit, matching the stony gaze directed at him. If Steve wanted to do this, then he better prepare to hear what he had to say too.

“What about when I woke up and had an asthma attack, huh? What about then? Did I purposely give myself an attack even though I was sleeping? Tell me doctor Bucky, clearly you know everything,” Steve said sarcastically.

Bucky retorted, “you know we don't have the best living conditions in Brooklyn. You know something's wrong with your lungs so things like this happen. But tell me Steve, what kept you alive hm? It wasn't me, all I did was rub your back. And since you don't want to be part of your body, it wasn't you. It was your goddamn lungs that did. Even though they could've snapped and gave in. Your body is fighting to keep you alive so disrespect it like that. It's the only reason you're here.”

Invading Bucky's space, Steve's chest brushed against his threateningly, and he said in a low voice, “don't you dare tell me how I should and shouldn't feel about my body. If it ain't yours then you don't get a choice.”

“Then stop trying to kill yourself over it!’

“I'm not trying to kill myself you- you-”

“Spit it out already!”

“You bastard!”

They both went quiet briefly, breathing heavily and searching each other's eyes. It was Steve who broke the silence.

“If I wanted to kill myself I'd jump off the bridge already, so shut the fuck up Buck.” Shaking his head, almost tiredly, Steve said, “you don't know anything, okay? Being here is one thing but experiencing it is another. I'll admit that I do push myself, I get frustrated and sometimes I want to throttle this useless shell but I don't want to end it. Jesus Christ, I just...I wish I wasn't so...so this. I'm tired of being tired and when people see that this is who I am, they think it's alright to make me a punching bag because I'm small. It gets to me more than I let on.”

“Steve...Steve no one's opinion of you should matter. Not mine, not theirs, and not some dames. The only one that should is yours. You're the best guy I know, God without you I'd probably lose my mind. Turn into some mindless asset or something. There is more to you than your body, I admit it, but your body it's...it's like those canvases. Those papers you draw on. It's essential.” Bucky sighed, not knowing what to say. “You get one canvas in life, it's best to love it than to hate. But I see where you're coming from. Take your time Stevie. Take your time but realise that loving your body is better than hating it.”

Exhaling loudly through his nose, Steve looked at him and said, “let's go home. Get those cuts checked out.”

Without putting up a fight this time, Bucky followed, knowing he'd follow Steve into the jaws of death if that's where he lead him. Things were rocky between them, but they'd be okay. They always were.

* * * *

“Steven Grant Rogers get your ass back on that couch or so help me God I will glue you there.”

Steve wasn’t walking, no he was crawling on his legs around the flat when Bucky returned with mustard oil freshly purchased from the Indian shop a few blocks over. Throwing his coat on the couch offhandedly, he paused next to Steve, unimpressed and challenging. Steve ignored him as he continued the task at hand.

“Why are you so stubborn?” Bucky asked finally, unable to watch Steve wince as he tried to walk back to the couch. “Why can’t you listen to me, just this once?”

“I was thirsty, didn’t want to die from dehydration,” Steve replied in a mutter, mouth downwards a combination of a wince and frown. “Besides, it’s just a bit of pain. Nothing too extreme.”

Providing additional support, Bucky posed as a pillar to stabilize him on his trek to the couch. “A bit of that pain is enough to make a grown man cry, I think it is extreme.”

“Sure it is,” Steve waved off with an eye roll.

Bucky helped him sit on the couch, gently minding his legs, and then just because, grabbed his book and pencils, throwing them on his lap. Steve stared at him. “Real mature, Buck.”

“Don’t be so dramatic next time then,” he stated simply, shrugging his shoulders.

Returning to their kitchen, he settled the oil on the counter, grabbing the large bowl under their sink and turning on the hot water. It generally ran lukewarm, so he got a pan and put some water in there, filling it to the brink before turning on the cooker and warming it. Behind him, he could hear Steve shuffle.

Looking around, he saw Steve’s muffled hair peeking from all edges of his head like soft spikes without a spine deflating, and he was wearing clothes that seemed two sizes too big for him. He was wearing Bucky’s clothes. Feeling unnecessarily happy, he smiled to himself, fooling his cynical mind into welcoming the domesticity of it, and what he could obtain if Steve loved him back like that.

But, Steve didn’t and the decision to wear Bucky’s clothes wasn’t even a significant one, he did all the time. It was still something that warmed his insides, knowing Steve felt comfortable in his clothes but he usually didn’t think much of it (lie), after all, it was a natural occurrence.

“Stop smiling at me you dolt, the water’s beyond boiling now. Going to burn my skin off,” Steve complained, throwing a pencil at him to bring him back.

Rolling his eyes, he went to inspect the water and saw the ferocious bubbles indicating that Steve was right. Turning off the flame below, he put a large bowl into the sink whilst saying, “I’m not entirely stupid Steve, I passed my science, I can fix this.”

“Just barely,” Steve mumbled, causing Bucky look up before he apprehended the boiling water to cry indignantly, “hey!”

It was most definitely a giggle that escaped from the caged mouth of Steve Rogers, Bucky was willing to gamble his soul on it, and it was the cutest thing he had ever heard. An exaggeration, perhaps, but it didn’t make it any less true. He needed to hear that again.

“Sorry Bucky,” Steve drawled, smiling when Bucky indulged in a covert glance. “But you’re taking your time.”

“Then why don’t you do it Einstein?” He countered.

“I have and you always get annoyed. Want me to try again?” Bucky could just imagine the gleam in Steve’s iris as he spoke those words. He lived for competitions.

“If you want what’s best for you keep your ass where it is,” Bucky said, pouring the last droplets of boiling water into the bowl. “I will burn your toes.”

He turned the tap, releasing the flow of warm water, and watched it fill up with the large bowl. Distantly, he wondered if the towel that he gave to Steve earlier was still there, but decided against asking. He’d find out eventually.

When there plenty of water in the bowl, he called over his shoulder, “drape the towel on the floor, don’t want to risk getting this on it,” and was relieved to hear that Steve had one.

Unscrewing the lid of the oil from the counter, he drizzled it into the liquid, before dipping his entire hand into it to mix. It felt extremely hot against his skin, almost unbearable, but it was just right for Steve, who needed it to be that temperature. Mixing complete, he dried his oil hand using a random cloth and heaved as he picked up the bowl, carrying it to Steve.

The towel was in position when he reached there, and straining under the immense weight, Bucky deposited the water onto the soaked fabric, panting slightly. Smiling gratefully at him, Steve tentatively put his toe into the water, testing the temperature before diving both feet into it and slumping on the couch with a sigh.

Releasing a breath, Bucky thanked God he wouldn’t have to repeat that process and got up, stumbling next to Steve, and crashing next to him. Without opening his eyes, Steve said, “thanks Buck,” relief painted on his face as the water soothed his legs and feet.

Smiling and knowing he’d do it whenever Steve asked, he replied, “you’re welcome, Stevie.”

Own eyes fluttering to a close, Bucky relished in the quietness, hooded eyes void of any colour, and he felt the heat radiate from Steve continuously, a never-ending supply. Without consciously considering the implications, he inclined towards the heat, feeling it amplify the closer he got. He moved closer and closer, until a bony shoulder blocked him.

“Ow,” he groaned tiredly, slumping against Steve completely, implications be damned. “Steve.”

Resolutely Steve ignored him, however did shift so that Bucky was more comfortably sprawled against him. Then, when Bucky had finished rubbing his cheekbones wearily, and was attached to Steve’s side, he felt a pressure accumulate on his head gradually. A slow, hesitant process transmitting an aura of uncertainty.

To erase any diffidence, he swung an arm around the gap between Steve and the couch, squeezing and praying he hadn’t overstepped any boundaries, and sighed aloud. Hoping his rapid heartbeat was undetectable, he mumbled into Steve’s arm, “wake me up when the water’s cold, I’ll replace it for you.”

He heard a relieved exhalation as Steve confidently pressed against him, and reply, “sure will Buck.”

(He didn’t.)

* * * *

“What's this?” Bucky asked suspiciously, hand grazing the neck of the bag.

Steve's innocent face was void of any hint, as he shrugged and confessed, “got you something.”

Bucky's face brightened instantly, a smile breaking out as he glanced at the bag quickly. “Aw Stevie, you shouldn't have!”

“I still have time to return it, don't tempt me,” Steve joked, shaking his head subconsciously contradicting himself.

“Nah, you wouldn't,” he stated, curiously peering inside.

“Yeah, you're right, I wouldn't,” Steve agreed.

Inside the bag was a box, lacking decorative paper revealed that it was one of the shoeboxes Bucky kept in the cupboard, never knowing when they'd come in handy. Picking it up, he grinned as he placed it on the table, saying, “what's the occasion? My birthday isn't for months yet.”

Taking in a glimpse of Steve, he saw him shrug casually as he replied, “just felt like it.” Heart swelling considerably, Bucky returned his gaze to the box.

Taking a deep, excited breath, he removed the lid and peeked inside, feeling the air extinguish in his lungs immediately. Eyes widening, he shook his head and quickly glanced at Steve, muttering, “you didn't.”

“Oh but I did,” replied Steve proudly, his grin bigger than Bucky's.

Looking back down at the box, he gingerly picked up the gift, in awe just having it in his grasp. It was a second hand, in mint condition pocket watch that had his accelerated heartbeat freezing. Young Bucky Barnes was obsessed with them, something that Steve remembered till date; he would plaster his face against the windows of high end stores and stare at the clock tick by, mesmerized.

It was his dream to get one, he needed it, but when the Great Depression stuck he had no choice but to abandon the dream and scrounge every last dime to support himself and Steve. Commissions weren’t doing well back then, and Steve’s workplace was forced to close when the owner couldn’t repay his debt to the bank- everything was a mess, and his dream was lost within it for seemingly ever.

Until Steve revived it by gifting Bucky it.

Watching the hands move, the weightless clock was perfect, shiny enough to gleam, small enough to fit the waistcoat his mom bought him, the chain was long enough for him to handle. It was everything and more.

Looking up at Steve, he saw a reserved smile, something that very rarely saw the light of day, and without thinking, Bucky reeled him into his grasp, watch tucked in his hand. Steve gave an abrupt laugh, not expecting it, and chuckled, returning the comfort with an evenly fierce embrace.

“Is it a yes from Bucky Barnes then?”

“You’re the best damn thing to have ever happened to me Stevie,” Bucky confessed, appalled to hear how affected his voice was. “The best thing ever.”

Relaxing in his arms, Steve nodded and said, “you too Bucky, s’why I saved up some money over these past months and pawned it a couple of days ago. I know it’s not all amazing, but I couldn’t afford anything brand new.”

“I don’t want brand new, I want anything you’re willing to give to me, new or old. I don’t care,” he said, almost stubbornly as he tightened his grip.

“Well, you’ve got all of me and...I’m willing to give you everything,” Steve responded kindly, albeit reluctant.

Even in-?

“Steve,” Bucky breathed, hoping he wasn’t any wrong indications. “Everything?”

Steve hummed. “If you’ll have it Buck.”

“If you know then, why didn’t you-”

Interjecting softly, Steve said, “I had to make sure. Remember Donovan?”

Bucky did, the unhappy memory spawning images and stories he wished he could avoid. Instinctively, he drew closer to Steve needing some sort of reassurance that their future would never turn so bleak, regardless. Steve responded to his touch.

“I know, just...didn’t want the police knocking down our door and taking me away, you were obvious, but not enough for me to feel confident,” he further disclosed, causing Bucky’s heart to ache.

“Steve- Steve, I’d never. You gotta know that, right? Never in a million years. Even if it was the only option on the table, I couldn't,” he rambled, pulling back, and grasping Steve's shoulders as he spoke, staring earnestly into his eyes.

Gently, Steve removed his steel grip and enclosed his hand with both of his own and said, “I know, Bucky. I do know, alright? That’s all that matters, nothing else can even compare.”

Swallowing a harsh breath, Bucky released, exhaling all of the fear he could, and blinked slowly, revealing, “I love you, Stevie. A lot. I really do.”

“I see you Bucky Barnes,” Steve said, grinning. “I know you do. And I love you too, punk. It took you a while but, you got here eventually.”

Hands gravitating to Steve's hips, Bucky nodded with a grin of his own and repeated, “you see me Steve. I can't believe- wait, what do you mean ‘got here eventually’?”

“Well,” Steve stalled, arms snaking across Bucky's waist. “I've been waiting, you know? For this moment- never thought it was going to happen if I'm honest but, I saw some signs and figured it might. So yeah, you took your time in seeing me, self-centred punk, but when you finally did, you opened a gateway that I've been hoping for.”

“You're a jerk,” Bucky told him fondly, leaning in closer as he did. “But I suppose that's why we work so well. Now, Mr Rogers, can I kiss you? I've done my waiting too.”

Steve pulled away, feigning contemplation as he hummed, but seeing the unimpressed look on Bucky's face, he rolled his eyes and grumbled, “you're no fun. I guess you can make it up to me with one of your magical kisses, I want to be breathless after this Barnes. Those dames better not be exaggerating.”

Just before their lips locked, Bucky pulled back incredulously and asked, “hold on, you watched me kiss them? Steve, you huge-”

“I didn't have a choice!” he hurriedly explained. “You always did it in front of me and the ground gets boring.”

Bucky laughed, whole hearted as his head fell back to form a narrow arch. Steve punched his chest in defiance saying, “you’re going to miss your four second window if you carry on. Four, three, two-”

Bucky didn't let him finish the countdown.

Two minutes later, when they pulled apart, Steve breathed heavily, blissful, he turned to Bucky, admitting, “I can understand why they lost their breath. Shit.”

“I do deliver,” Bucky said smugly, enjoying the feel on Steve in his clutches, intimately.

Nodding agreeably, Steve mumbled, “damn right you do.”

Bucky couldn't contain his laugh. “I love you, Stevie.”

“Love you too Buck, a whole lot.”

Neither boys knew of the war breaching the walls of their country would be arriving soon, and testing the sheer magnitude of their love. Embraced in each other’s arms, smiles wider than the equator, they gazed into each other’s gleaming irises, shielded from the incoming reality. Troubling times were ahead, but at that moment, none of it matter. They were together at last.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr:  bountifulsilences   
> twitter:  AwestruckBuck 


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